


presented without context

by Fuckboy Phoebus (The_Resurrection_3D)



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Praise Kink, Spitroasting, Strap-Ons, Subspace, Threesome - M/M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 00:53:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18649594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Resurrection_3D/pseuds/Fuckboy%20Phoebus
Summary: Paul feels a swell of affection, even as part of him rebels that he can take any degradation the oh-so-esteemed Red Leader could dish out. There's nothing too hard he could hit him with -- who's going to tell their fuckbuddy they probably caused their parents' divorce as they're getting blown?Never mind, Tord would.





	presented without context

**Author's Note:**

> Why, Mr. Anderson? Why do you do it? Why get up? Why keep fighting? Do you believe you're fighting for something? For more than your survival? Can you tell me what it is? Do you even know? Is it freedom? Or truth? Perhaps peace? Yes? No? Could it be for love? Illusions, Mr. Anderson. Vagaries of perception. The temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to justify an existence that is without meaning or purpose. And all of them as artificial as the Matrix itself, although only a human mind could invent something as insipid as love. You must be able to see it, Mr. Anderson. You must know it by now. You can't win. It's pointless to keep fighting. Why, Mr. Anderson? Why? Why do you persist?

_You're... How do I say this politely?_ Tord hesitates, biting his lip even as he traces Paul's bottom lip with his thumb.

 _You?_   Paul asks. _Being polite?_ He can only barely see Patryck from the corner of his vision but he knows Pat's glaring daggers, warning Tord to watch his tongue before he finds it cut out. Tord has already been more gentle than he's ever been during one of his own stories, or even their old tussles - a few bites and scratches, sure, but no one's tied up, no one's face is under the other's boot, nothing's on fire and the only flush of red painted across their skins is from arousal.

Paul feels a swell of affection, even as part of him rebels that he can take any degradation the oh-so-esteemed Red Leader could dish out. There's nothing too hard he could hit him with -- who's going to tell their fuckbuddy they probably caused their parents' divorce as they're getting blown?

Never mind, Tord would.

 _Alright, in a way that will keep my genitals intact. And not you -- Patryck_.

Patryck lifts his head up off Paul's shoulder, quirks a brow.

Tord chuckles dryly. _You're not being as much of an asshole as I'd expect._

Paul opens his mouth to say, _Like I told you,_ but Patryck interrupts:

_Why does everyone think that? Can't I want to show some affection to my_

(pet?)

_partner without it being weird?_

(ah, so he remembers how Tord had locked Paul in his car and tried to force him to bring out the fursuit when he'd heard about their pet-play.) 

(his dick would droop a little if Pat's pelvis wasn't pressed against him, legs between his thighs, just close enough for Patryck's soft skin to brush his with every subtle movement, and Paul fists the bedspread to avoid pushing back into him.)

Paul feels slender fingers on his chin, pulling his jaw down. _Now come on love, open up._ Paul can hear the lust and steel laced through Patryck's voice as Tord rests his cock heavy on Paul's tongue. _You can rough him up however much you want; he can take it. Can't you, love?_   Patryck's sugary-sweet voice almost makes Paul bristle -- they're just night terrors, I'm not a doll -- but then Patryck scratches Paul behind the ear, presses a kiss to his cheek, and Paul obediently moans at the thought that Patryck probably felt Tord's cock sink deeper into his throat.

Pat ruffles his hair. _Good boy._

God, those _words_ : an electric shot of pleasure right through his abdomen. Paul moans again, squeezing his thumb into his fist like he'd been taught as Tord glides past his gag reflex.

 _How is he?_ Patryck asks Tord as he finally sits back, Paul's skin so cold where Patryck's no longer connects.

Tord groans as he slips his boxers down further, freeing himself fully. _Fucking awesome_. Norwegian. He really must mean it; like Paul, Tord only accidentally slips into his mother tongue like this when he's extremely relaxed.

No small amount of pride; no minor twitch in his own cock. Paul tries to lean forward, but Patryck catches his hips. _Hold on, darling._ A chuckle. _So eager._

(Paul and Tord share a brief look, but Paul gives a tiny shrug. Patryck's soft praise and touches are pushing at the thin layer of resistance over the pool of his mind, and if it's not that same dream of two-faced wolves, he'll take it.)

The cap on the lube pops, and Pat's fingers slip a generous dollop inside him before his tip is pressing against ---

Paul yells as Patryck sinks in in one hard, smooth thrust, the momentum sending his nose crashing into Tord's pelvic bone.

 _See, Tord?_ Patryck asks with a contented sigh. Paul groans at the fullness inside him, cock leaking as he bows his back to take Patryck in deeper, the spike of adrenaline turning his every nerve into a spark. Patryck's hand runs soothingly over his back. _I told you._

(Told you what?) But before Paul can think that statement through, Tord is laughing, _I have to concede,_  robotic grip on Paul's hair so harsh his scalp throbs. Guess they'd agreed to take the frog in boiling water approach with him.

Paul thrums at the twin aches, relishing the way Patryck gasps as Paul's movements shove the other end of the strap deeper into himself, the way Tord's breathe hitches as Paul curls his tongue along the underside of Tord's length. 

Patryck's fingers ghost again down Paul's spine. _Well, go on -- use his throat_ , Patryck coaxes, biting his lip as he rolls his hips forward. Paul's toes curl at the words -- _yes, yes, please_ , he wants to say, but the resistance is gone at that simple word and he's falling into himself

(and isn't _useful(l)_ such a funny concept under these conditions?)

Patryck starts to find a relatively kinder rhythm from before, nails digging into Paul's hips. The steady punch of his hips makes the muscles in Paul's thighs jump as his prostate is rammed with every hard, deep thrust. Paul moans shamelessly around Tord's cock. 

_You like that, don't you Paul?_

Tord chimes, _Like when we take you from both ends? Like being our little slut?_

Goosebumps down his spine.

_You're doing so great, dear._

Tord makes a snorting chuckle; Patryck snaps at him to hush up.

Whimpering, Paul dives deeper into his own head, pink and pleasant and warm, looking for the place he knows will make his vision white out and his mouth only able to beg. Sensations wiping his thoughts clean as his throat relaxes for --

Well, Red Leader is technically correct, but -- well, come on. It's just Tord. Paul tries to chuckle as Tord pulls out and sinks back in, rhythm slow and careful as he watches Paul's face.

It really has been a few years, hasn't it?

Paul shoves him away so harshly Tord nearly bounces off the bed, but Paul pins him down by the hips and swallows his cock up again, cackling the way they used to in primary. 

Tord's own peels of laughter are choked with arousal, Paul catching his leg as it winds back to kick him and pushing it towards Tord's chest. The movement has pulled Patryck out to just the tip, so he rolls his eyes with a smile and walks a little forward on his, popping Paul's head up off Tord by the hair.

 _Where are you manners?_ He asks. Before Paul can reply, however, Pat is shoving his head down again, forcing Tord's cock in to the hilt. Tord cries out in surprise as Paul yelps and groans around him, muffled words as Patryck forcefully slides Paul's head up and down Tord's length, holding Paul down at the base a second too long each time so Tord can relish  the way Paul's throat spasms around him. Tord squirms as his cock pounds into Paul's throat, wet and hot and moaning around him, eyes rolling back when Paul starts to suck as best as he's able. 

After a few dozen pumps, Patryck pulls a sputtering, gasping Paul off again. _Ready to behave?_ In that voice that means he's really not mad at all.

 _You can keep doing this, I'm fine with it,_ Tord says, organic hand a pillow behind his head.

  _Didn't ask._

 Paul feels himself grow harder, hotter under the punishment, his cock twitching obscenely with each drum-kick of his heart, fighting down the urge to ask one of them to touch him -- that'll just delay it further, he knows by now. So he nods his head, swallowing until he manage a  _Yes sir, I'll be good,_  feeling the electric knot of pleasure in his stomach tighten.

Patryck gently nuzzles behind his ear. _Good boy._ His eyes turn towards Tord as he asks _, See what I mean?_ He releases Paul's hair. _He just needs a little discipline sometimes._ Tord sits up again so Paul can settle back down, resting an arm across Tord's stomach, free fingers searching for the sensitive tracts still along Tord's scarred thigh. Patryck ruffles Paul's hair encouragingly as he starts to bob his head on Tord's cock, matching Tord's own shallow thrusts.

 _Good boy,_ Patryck breathes, re-positioning and pressing back in as his hand comes down between Paul's legs, gently massaging his balls. _Good,_ good _boy, just like that._ Paul arches when Patryck folds himself over to kiss along Paul's broad shoulders as he ruts, feeling his own arousal start to drip down his thighs with the sloppy movements of the dildo in and out of the both of them. 

Paul whimpers; Tord moans deep in his throat.

Patryck smiles smugly, looking out from his now-messy bangs turning darker with sweat.   _Besides, Paul's so much more fun like this, don't you agree?_

 _Can't relate_ , Tord says, voice strained. _If I don't feel like I set my therapy back six months I'm not fully satisfied._

Then he asks if Patryck has a tentacle strap he could be using instead, and Paul has to sit back on top of him so Pat doesn't strangle him unconscious. 


End file.
